Making Something Out of Nothing

I've been known for making something out of nothing on more than one occasion. Sometimes this is not for the best, but other times, it is just what was needed. My gifting is in the area of mercy, encouragement and helping others to shine. I do this well. I enjoy it. It comes naturally to me. I am honored each time God puts me smack dab in the middle of "nothing", and with His grace allows me to leave it better. He allows me to make something out of nothing.

This week, Debby, Brett, Josh and I got to spend some time in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. We have been afforded the opportunity to learn about the history of the area and to attend the ISTE conference where we have gained knowledge that will assist us in preparing students for a world that does not exist yet. The experience itself has been amazing! As with all experiences that require a change of culture, though, there are challenges. We were astonished at the incessant honking of horns, the sheer volume when people talk to each other, the condition of our 1.7 rated hotel and most importantly the $24 parking fee each time you park your car. On day three Debby and I knew we needed a Plan B for parking. It was breaking the bank, so we decided to take the public transportation system (aka the city bus).

We walked several blocks from our hotel and boarded a bus, where we were surprisingly greeted by the most precious, most kind bus driver ever. He was such a warm and welcoming man. He gave us a free round trip bus ride, made sure we were comfortable, alleviated our frustrations and even insisted that we take a fist full of Dum Dum suckers just to make us smile. What a refreshing change from fighting the Philly traffic and paying the outrageous parking fees! It was a gift, but with any gift comes the obligation to pay it forward.  "To whom much is given, much is required." We would have the opportunity before the night would end.

As Debby and I re-boarded the same bus with our same precious bus driver, we were delighted to see that he was still looking out for us. He would take us from our yummy dinner at Cheesecake Factory back to our somewhat sad hotel. Through the ride, he continued to help us by anticipating questions we might have. He asked if we wanted to board another bus in order to take a shorter route home, or if we wanted to stay with him but take a longer ride home. We opted for the later. You could tell he was pleased. This was all as it should be, in my opinion.

During the long ride home, Debby and I sat together chatting, laughing and relishing the moment. It was in this moment that the bus made a stop. Passengers boarded. The bus began to slowly move, but at that moment, I saw a frail aged hand knocking on the window of the bus as we were creeping away. Passengers yelled to our bus driver to stop. We had another passenger who needed to board, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Our compassionate bus driver stopped the bus to let this lucky person board.

When he boarded, he was a sight to behold. He was frail, and old. His little, dimly lit eyes were sunken into his head. He desperately needed a hair cut and a shave. His shoulders were hunched forward. He had no teeth, so his mouth was slightly opened and his cheeks were also very concave. His clothes were hanging from his body in need of a larger frame. He tried to smile as he laboriously worked his way to a seat. When he finally found one, he asked if he could sit in the window seat beside a young woman. She rudely got up and gave him both seats.

In the moment, my heart sunk. I could not hold back the tears. Against my will they fell down my cheeks and dropped to my lap. I tried to hide my face so that other couldn't see. Debby fetched a napkin quickly, and said, "He's okay, Lisa. He has a seat." Through the course of the ride, I would turn and look at him. He was so tired and looked so lonely.

The bus began to fill quickly. Soon there was standing room only, and every seat was filled---even the one beside the old man. Eventually a young mother with an almost two year little boy boarded. She stood in front of me. I am all too familiar with the difficulties of trying to keep a toddler still in a small space for a lengthy amount of time---especially when you're tired and on a moving bus. I asked her if she would like my seat, so she could hold her baby with more ease. She gratefully accepted, and Debby began to assist her and engage her in conversation that she no doubt found pleasant. I stood beside them where I could occasionally glance at the old man. My heart continued to be drawn to him.

Finally there was a seat available...and guess where? Beside the man to whom my heart was so drawn. I scooped up the seat beside him. His head was resting on the seat in front of him. He was slightly asleep. I watched him for awhile. I saw a name badge. I could tell his first name was Joseph and his last name was one that is held by many of the Jewish faith. I gently said, "Joseph?" He looked up at me with those precious brown eyes where I could now see a slight sparkle. He said, "Yes. How did you know my name." I said, "Lucky guess, I suppose", and I winked at him. We began to talk. I found out he had a twin sister that died of tuberculosis. I told him I have a twin brother. He was in and out of foster homes due to a mother who was an alcoholic and a father who was basically absent. His mom was Jewish. His father was Greek (His words). He had traveled to North Carolina where he worked a traveling carnival. He receives nursing care three times a day for emphysema and lung cancer that is the result of being exposed to asbestos. He said he wouldn't wish his health problems on anyone. He is 78, but I know that he will be 79 at some point this year, because he was born in 1936. He shared so many things. He even showed me a book he said he bought for $20 that day. It was on wellness, and he had me to read him the synopsis from the back of the book. He listened intently, and I enjoyed every moment. He further told me he had never been married, but longed for a family. At one point, he even jokingly proposed to Debby. It was as debonair as any impromptu bus marriage proposal could be! We came to his stop, but he was enjoying the conversation so much that he forfeited his bus stop in order to stay a little longer to talk with Debby and me. He said he would get off when the bus circled back around again. I was touched!

Finally, it was time for Debby and me to exit. As we were exiting, I was able to tell Joseph that I didn't think it was an accident that we met. I told him I believed he was much loved! I told him I believed that Jesus loves him very much, and I believe Jesus hears Joseph every time he prays. Joseph told me that each night he  gets on his knees and prays for one more day. I told him I believe God honors Joseph's prayers. I shook Joseph's hand and rubbed his shoulders as we were exiting. I told him it was an honor to meet him. Joseph smiled such a big smile before we left. He said, "You took a chance, and you got my name right." His grin was from ear to ear. I didn't have the heart to tell him I saw it on his name badge; but do I think that was an accident? Not a chance! Do I think it was happenstance that we rode a bus with a longer route where sweet Joseph almost missed the bus, but somehow made it? Do I think it was an accident that that precious little mama needed my seat? Again, not a chance.

It was nothing, but it was something. In the scheme of things it was everything. It was love, and love never fails. It is the only thing that will remain. The bus driver showed Debby and me love. We loved a little mama who needed a seat for her and her baby. This simple act afforded us an opportunity to love Joseph who in turn loved us right back. We left him better than we found him. It was nothing! It was something! It was everything!

Thank you Lord, for always aligning our steps. Thank you for creating Divine opportunities where we can love someone who needs to be loved. We are grateful that you store such greatness in simple earthen vessels.

New International Version
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. Corinthians 4:7

Our Sweet Bus Driver Who Took a Chance on Two Steele Magnolias!

The Mountain Woman, Scars and Being Bullheaded

Born in Sylva, North Carolina on May 8, 1915. She was crass and kind, steel and silk, tender and tart. She would soothe your fears and whip you into shape with the lash of her trusty tongue as fast as you could blink. She stood a mere 5'3, just like me, her first born granddaugther. Though nothing to brag about, we are the tallest females in the bunch. I have her hands, her feet, her sweet tooth, her love of the mountains and few other features that will remain unnamed. Though born a beach bum, I love to make a run for the mountains every chance I get. I think she is the reason why. We loved to watch the sunset from her opened bedroom window as we listened to her old iron bladed box fan and felt the night breeze as it gave our skin a slight chill. There was nothing better in this world than waking to the smell of her egg gravy (egg gravy= a mountain woman's trick for making a meal go farther especially during The Great Depression).

I've always associated myself with being more like my daddy. It is true that Dad and I have similar strengths and similar struggles. We both have big hearts; and we both have a hard time saying "no". Yet, every once in awhile I'll see my bullheaded grandma rise up in me. I'll see that she deposited a bit of herself into my soul too. I've been told I'm a doctor's nightmare, because I don't listen, although I do make an attempt.

My grandma was such a big part of our lives. As a little girl I remember praying for God to never take my grandmother before me. I thought I would die without her. She was our Nanny, our friend, our prayer warrior and the tanner of our hides when we needed it.  She was the epitome of a mountain woman. No frills, no makeup, no fancy clothes; but that woman would work her hands to the bone and give you the shirt off her back if you needed it.

As this sometimes bullheaded product of my grandma was driving today (yes...not really supposed to be yet as my foot is still healing...but I can't stand to be told "no" or feel pinned in...), I found myself in front of her house. I'm not really sure how I made the wrong turn and ended up there, but it was a pleasant serendipity. I recalled her and an instance when she nursed me. It was one of the sweetest memories I have of her.  I had spent the day working at a summer camp. I was eight months pregnant and we were outside at the pool, and I was in the sun all day (yes...bullheaded...that I am). It was hot. I was huge. I was miserable, and my ivory legs were blistered almost instantly. I remember that it was on a Wednesday, and I had to go to church that night looking like a lobster. I went into her house right after work, as was my routine. She saw me. She didn't fuss. She just said, "Lisa, you go straight in that bedroom and lie down. I'll be there shortly." Bless! She always knew just how to fix anything from broken toys to broken people. She bathed my legs in aloe and time and again dipped her wash cloth into ice cold water that she gently applied to my legs so as to absorb the heat. She worked relentlessly. It felt wonderful. She pulled the heat from legs. Though I was still red the next day, the pain was very minimal. It's fastest I've ever healed from a sunburn.

As I sat in front of what used to be her door, I knew that  if I could have walked to that door and knocked on it, today and if I could have had her open it...she would have spoken only a few words and got right to nursing her stubborn granddaughter's foot. She wouldn't have fussed at me for being a headstrong,  She would have known that I inherited that bit of a rebel streak from her. Oh the tales that I heard: the times she rode shot gun on the back of a motorcycle in the sleet down the mountains, the times she had to show that she could out hammer or out chop a man, the way she refused to let breast cancer beat her even though she was a young woman and medicine hadn't advanced as much as it has now, etc., etc., etc.

If she were alive, she'd be 100 years old this Friday May 8 the day before Carter's 3rd birthday and eleven days before what would have been my dad's birthday. She was such a fighter and lived to be to 90 years old. She was healthy and alert up until her last few months. She was an amazing woman, and I miss her! She would have loved Carter! She would have loved Mari! They would have loved her!

Reflecting on her the past few days and the things she overcame has gotten me to thinking about scars and life. I have had several surgeries, like my grandma and mama, but unlike them, vanity causes me to hate the scars that are left. I have tried to apply creams to lighten them or camouflage them as best I can.  Today, though I saw this quote and it gave me a new appreciation for scars, "Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever it was that tried to hurt you" Unknown Author.

Forty two years into this one shot deal called life, ten years without my grandma and almost one year without my dad, have me thankful for the first time for scars and thankful for bullheaded women! I miss you grandma with all my soul! Happy almost 100th! I have no doubt you'll be celebrating with my daddy!
Love you, your Ladybug!

Why they call you stubborn?

jeffrey conyers

Jul 12, 2012

Stubborn

You didn't listen.
You didn't learn.
And you wonder
Why they call you stubborn?

You act stupid.
When you're not.
You refuses to adapt.
When you should.
And you wonder
Why they call you stubborn?

You act unreasonable.
Just determine to remain the same.
And because of that you think others to blame.
Only if you agree.
Then you'll see how great things could be.

Except you're stubborn.
Just refuses to change.

Its not that you can't be controlled.
You just use to getting your way.
Except you're spoil.
And strictly stubborn to see.
That you could meet half way with me.

Hey Hue! You're Just Like Me!

It's a mystery to me how I can go to one nail salon and request Bubble Bath gel nail polish and when I request the exact some thing at another salon, the shades are entirely different. How can that be? Well, it's all about the hue. Some shades have a different gradation due to a little more black or a little more white in the color scheme. Fortunately, I am not high maintenance where this is concerned. I usually just wait to see what I will be surprised with...kind of like Forest Gump and his box of chocolates. Today was one such surprising day for me. It was surprising in many regards.

I worked at a high school near South Carolina, today; and knowing that my next 72 hours are slammed with almost every moment accounted for, I had to get a mani/pedi right quick like and in a hurry, as my grandma would say,  if it was going to be a reality. Otherwise, I would need to wait several weeks as the result of an upcoming medical procedure. So, I thought what better idea than to go to SC, cross the border and just get lost. I can go where NOBODY knows my name. What a novel idea. Well, as it turns out...not so novel. Everyone and their brother was getting pedi/mani's today. I went to three locations before I found a salon that was not slammed, and at this one there was even a double date with a couple whose fellas were getting a pedicure for their first time. They were hysterical and provided quite a bit of entertainment for my experience. There is nothing like seeing their men folks' faces when the hot paraffin wax is placed on their feet! Priceless! Guys have no clue what we do to look natural!

When I first arrived at this salon, I knew the atmosphere felt different. It was alive with the laughter of these couples, the stories of a public preschool teacher from somewhere in the area, young ladies giggling on their cell  phones and muffled sounds of music from the earbuds of an iPhone that were actively engaged by its owner. I liked it! Across the room I saw an attractive Asian man with quite an impressive gun show. I have never seen biceps quite that large on someone his statue. It was fascinating. I figured with that kind of strength, he could give a great pedicure without getting fatigued. Through later conversations, I discovered that he was computer engineer who worked his way through college as a nail technician and enjoys doing nails on the weekends to raise extra money for his wife and five year old daughter. Yes...I would pick him...but wait!?! Too late. I was being "the picked" before I had the chance to be "the picker". It was a timid, tiny (and I mean tiny) Asian woman who spoke so softly that I had to strain to hear her. Her English was very good, but her projection was slight. She smiled a lot, and I could tell her thoughts were very deep and that she rarely dabbled in small talk or shallow conversations. She wasn't my first choice due to her size, but my later observation yielded promise. I don't like to be asked general questions during beauty sessions. Just let me think. I assessed that she would comply quite naturally with my need for quiet. So, I thought, "This could be okay."

She did an outstanding job on my feet. She was so meticulous and so thorough. She only spoke to make sure I was satisfied with various parts of the process. I even closed my eyes at one point to savor it...and I never close my eyes at pedi/mani. She made me feel comfortable, and I felt I understood her. I don't believe in hocus pocus or magic or fortune tellers, but I do believe in Divine appointments and Divine promptings where you just are imparted knowledge that you couldn't know without some impartation from Someone bigger than you. This was such a day for me.

The pedicure being finished, we moved to the manicure. She didn't ask me personal questions or probe into my business with small talk (I hate that...don't ask me if I'm married, where I work, how many kids I have, etc. if we just met in a setting where I am paying for service from you. It's not bad. It's just not enjoyable to me.) Later though, she did begin to share about herself. Easing in at first and waiting for my nudging to affirm that I wanted her to share more, I learned that she had a third grade little girl who had a hard time as an ELL (English Language Learner) student--a little girl who used to hate to read, because she didn't understand the language---a little girl who now can't put a book down. Her mother was so proud. I learned that 'Mr. Impressive Gun Show" was actually the brother-in-law of my manicurist and that her husband was the music man who was absorbed in his iPhone. I learned that 15 years ago, when my husband, James,  taught at Hunter Huss, she was a student there.  She never knew him, and I was saddened to find that her experience was not that pleasant. I learned that she knows the exact Asian markets to buy rice and from which ones to purchase meat, and that it is well worth the drive to obtain your Asian cuisine from just the right store. I learned that she is proud of how well her daughter speaks Vietnamese and that it is sad to her when her daughter and the young cousins get together and only use English to communicate. I learned that her name was Lisa just like mine! Wow! At first, I thought I was misunderstanding when people were calling her name, but no...it was true! We were the same name!

As our conversation continued I was curious if Lisa's daughter was still in ESL (English as a Second Language) or if she had exited the program. I was told that she was in the program but that she spent less time with the ESL teacher now. I wanted to know what qualified her daughter for continuation  in ESL so I could offer some support. Was the continued placement due to needing assistance with: Reading, Writing, Speaking or Listening (The 4 necessary language skills)? Lisa said, "It is..compre...com...compre...C...". I said, "Was it comprehension?" She said yes, and we tried to pronounce it together a few times. She said, "What comprehension mean?" I explained that it means understanding and knowing what you've read or heard in a way that you could successfully retell it to someone else.

Throughout the course of our conversation, I liked her more and more. In the back of my mind, I kept wondering what her name was before it was Lisa. I kept feeling prompted to ask, but how could I do that? I might embarrass her. I certainly didn't want her to feel like I didn't think Vietnamese could have American names, but something kept prompting me to ask. I know that prodding that says, "If you follow Me, this could be really good. Why don't you stop resisting and pulling against Me or you'll miss this moment." Finally, I just bit the bullet and said, "Lisa, what was the name you were born with? What did your parents name you?" She looked at me and said, "It's what you said." When you said "Understand" that is how you say my name. It is pronounced 'Hue'. If you raise voice at the end...it is my name. If you lower voice at the end...it means 'understand'. I write for you to show you." She sure did! I took a picture of it. We practiced. She instructed me, and I was an attentive student. What were the chances that we were having a conversation with so much connection and so much foreshadowing.

When I got home I looked up both hieu's. One is generally a boy's name that means respected or admired. The other means to digest something, to be savvy or to understand. What an amazing day! Like my dad, I've always found people easy to love and usually find some special gem inside of everyone. I have a big heart and couldn't function in an environment where I couldn't use that gift. I wouldn't want to even try. I love watching people. They are beautiful. Today, I was reminded of several things:

• Crossing the border away from your home can sometimes bring you closer to home
• Love, savor and celebrate the moment you're in---this has been a challenge for an ADD, Type A, female...but the payoff is always well worth it
• Never hold back your heart...even at risk of being broken...love, love, love...serve, serve, serve...and give, give, give.
• Today I refreshed and loved students. They returned this to me. I refreshed and loved a beautiful, mysterious and fascinating manicurist...she did the same for me. "He who refreshes others will himself be refreshed."
• Finally, it's all about the hue. All the colors, connections and compliments make a beautiful tapestry. We need diversity and differences, but it's important to take a little extra time to celebrate that magical moment when your hue stumbles upon someone who may have a different culture, a different background...but underneath the label...they really have the same hue as you!

Hey Hue! Look over here! You're just like me!

My hieu lessons on ordinary receipt paper filled with Lisa's other notes. There is a good chance she is interested in saving trees too! I can tell by how little space is left on this paper. She is using up every space

Route Recalcuate

I've been pondering this phrase for several days now. As one with a writer's heart, albeit pretty amateur, that's how we do it. Something hits us, sparks a fire and we have to wait until the right moment to kindle it. That moment was, today, for me. It all begin on a trip to Buffalo. Those who know me will attest to the fact that you can spin me around in my back yard a couple of times, and I'm as lost as last year's Easter egg. A sense of direction has somehow alluded me. I've never really minded though. Sometimes getting lost with the right person is half the fun.

It was raining in Buffalo. It was dark. My GPS was not the most user friendly, and wouldn't you just know that two main roads that we needed for Chrissie and I to return to our hotel were blocked off. We were assured by the barricade of police officers that passage would not be possible. They rerouted us. We had no choice. Whatever our plans were, however strong our protest, it didn't matter. We were being rerouted. We were experiencing an unplanned change. Our GPS began shouting out commands. She was trying to help us. Unfortunately, we could not yield to her commands for us to turn around. There were several other inaccessible roads, so we had to continue against her wishes and much to her displeasure. She continued to bark, "Route recalculate"..."Route recalculate"..."Route recalculate". At one point, she seemed to be so disgusted with us that she literally threw a barrage of spaghetti lines on the map and refused to speak. It was any man's guess...a free for all at that point. We had to manage for a moment without her. We had to go with our gut and Chrissie's sense of direction.

It sort of reminded me of life. How many route recalculations have we had? Some by choice...some very much not our choice. Yet, route recalculate we must in this life. The past 11 months have been among the hardest I have ever experienced. Today is exactly 11 months since my dad died, and with each passing day I dread next month with all my soul, as it will be the year anniversary. I can still remember holding his hand and kissing him just a few hours prior. I remember how he looked at me with such love. I have had moments when I did not know who I was, this past year or where I belonged. I have had moments when I didn't recognize my family. I've had moments when I felt I could run and run and never stop. As we must, with any loss, people have to evolve, adapt and change a bit. This has been painful. I miss my life, and I desperately miss my daddy.

I had a moment this morning where I was 50/50 about staying home from work. I honestly didn't know if I had the stamina to leave my house and face the world or serve as I needed to, today. This is a rare moment for me, and I usually work through it pretty nicely. I needed my dad, today.  I needed him to say everything will be okay with this upcoming surgery, that the "route recalculations" for my children are for the best, that Carter is going to be just fine, that the decisions I've made in regards to things the last few weeks will work out. I needed him to say, "We can handle this. We're gonna be okay." I needed to be his little girl again. I DO NOT want this route recalculation. I change my mind. I want to go through the barricade in spite of who's blocking it. I want to refuse to comply. I want to say, NO! But we don't get that choice. Do we?

I hauled myself into the car where I had another route recalculation. I left a little earlier than usual and was in deep thought...when surprise! I had made a wrong turn. Route recalculate! It was then that I began to think about my life and all the route recalculations that were for the good. The drive from Lincolnton to Mt. Holly Middle School is special to me. On this trip, I get to relive highlights of my life. I pass the place where I had my first school bus ride at Ida Rankin. I pass the place where I first found out I would have the baby sister that I had prayed for at naptime on that Ida Rankin floor. I pass the place where I received my first kiss and my first piece of jewelry from a guy who was my first love. I pass the graveyard where I used to go and study and complete my undergrad assignments, because it was quiet and I could think. Oh the solo picnics and silent prayers that I have had there! I wouldn't trade them for anything. I pass the laundromat where Mom, Grandma and I had to go one Saturday, because our washing machine was broken. I hated it! I still hate laundromats. I vowed that I would never go to one when I grew up. It seemed so dirty. Route recalculate! I went to one by choice only two weeks ago in order to wash some comforters. Isn't life funny! I pass the place where Mom used to take my brother and me for apple pie a la mode on our way to school in the morning (yes...on occasion this was the breakfast of champions). It was such a special memory. I pass the place where I discovered Mom had cancer, and the place where she fought to win against it.  I pass the place where my Grandma would hold my hand and safely walk me across the street as we bought our first pack of Budding Ham for our own special picnic. I pass the place where I had my first of many beautiful Barbies and showed it to my less than impressed Grandpa as we sat in chairs on his lawn. I pass the place where I was Wonder Woman or the Bionic Woman and by brother and I would save the world in our makeshift capes and pretend lassos of truth! I pass the place where on Sunday night services that lasted a little long, my dad would scoop me up in his arms and carry me home as my sleepy eyes opened and shut looking at the stars and at the strong contour of his jaw. I pass the place where I have felt the safest in my life...in my daddy's strong arms. I pass the church where as a 12 year old girl, I was baptised--where I stood with tears streaming as I was enveloped in a love like I had never known---a love that has never forsaken me. A love that still covers me, pursues me and sustains me. I pass many route recalculations on this short drive. There have so many changes along the road of my life. Some so beautiful that they make the tapestry of my life glow with pristine radiance. Some so hurtful that they have cut me to the core and I wondered if I could recover, but this one thing I know. At every route recalculation, I have had friend who has never left me. I have had someone who has helped absorb the shocking blows and who has multiplied my joy in such gracious ways! I am grateful tonight for Him. I am still navigating this route recalculation without my dad, but I am assured of this: And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. Romans 8:28

I was listening to the following song this morning and when it gets to the part "over us" (You reign over us), I can almost feel my Abba Father holding me. Yes...the place where I can feel the safest is in my Daddy's arms!"

What Goes Down Must Come Up

Sometimes in life we find that in order to go higher, we must go lower. This is strange, but true. Sometimes we have to lose in order to ultimately win. Like the seasoned eagle whose wings become burdened down with aged feathers that can no longer carry him to the heights of his youth, we must beat off the old. We must spend time in hiding as we heal, and we must allow ourselves to renew.

When I arrived in New York for the first time ever, I was faced with this realization in an amazing way. The hotel employees at Buffalo were welcoming, charming and accomodating. The employees at our Rochester hotel left much to be desired. As we arrived at the hotel seeking valet service, we soon found that there was none to be had. We were immediately greeted with a parking deck that was a hot mess. This was only preceeded by a vagabond who aggressively persisted for monetary gifts. Upon finding our way through the maze of ply wood, concrete slabs and crime tape we found a very tight parking space. Relieved to be parked, we walked toward an entrace of the hotel. This was when we realized that there was no elevator and we must drag our 200 lbs of luggage down two flights of stairs. Once we made our way inside of the hotel, it was realized that we must go up a flight of stairs with our belongings only to go down an escalator to check in and finally to go up an eleavator to our room. Up, down, up down...isn't that like life though?! Sometimes we go up, but ups are always followed by downs. To go up, we must go down.

On my last night in Rochester, my colleague, Chrissie and I were determined to have a bit of fun. We had worked hard for three days and wanted to end our trip with one last, sweet memory. As part of our job, we were recruiting new teachers to come to NC. They were precious! They were inspiring, and the vast commonality among the female candidates was that they wore Alex and Ani bracelets. Chrissie decided we needed one too! We began our adventure which involved obtaining one of these. We had directions from an interviewee and high hopes of securing one soon. With a pit stop at Nick Tahou's for a first time garbage plate experience for me, we had planned to grab something else for Chrissie. We detoured by Wegmens to "ooohhh" and "ahhhh" at this impressive grocery store, and we began to search for Chrissie some sustenance. We soon forgot the main goal of our mission--the elusive bracelet.

When Chrissie recalled our goal,we realized that we were lost; however, we soon found an Alex and Ani's on Culver Street at the Armory. I was excited! This part of Rochester was beautiful, warm, friendly, crisp and inviting. Upon leaving NC, my mom gave me some money that she asked me to use to buy myself something special. She and my father had planned to travel when she retired, and New York was on their bucket list. This was not to come to fruition due to my dad's failing health. Mom said, "Lisa, your dad and I would want you to buy yourself something special from us. I wish we had been able to go to NY together, but we are happy that you are. Have fun, and get something to remember your trip." I honestly was only 50% committed to this. I wasn't sure if I could own something that reminded me of what my dad could never do...would never be able to do, but nonetheless the moment had come.

It was surreal. When Chrissie and I entered Alex and Ani's I was amazed at how beautiful the jewelry was. I was also a little saddened as I remembered Dad. It was at that moment that we were greeted with the most precious and very young sales ladies. They said, "Ladies, are you here for our event?" I replied that we had just come to purchase a bracelet, but that we were curious about the event. She begain to explain that the event was to raise funds for literacy as a memorial for a deceased, prominent, local educator. She showed me the table where they had punch and treats and decorations of such books as The Hungry Caterpillar. She bragged and gleamed at her decorating efforts that honored children's literature. She said "...and by the way, Ladies, twenty percent of your purchase tonight goes toward this cause for promoting literacy in our area."

What? Was this real? What were the chances that we would actually be here? What were the chances we'd find  this store on this night...or what were the chances we would even want to find it after getting lost? What were the chances that on the one day at the one moment when Alex and Ani were honoring teachers, education and literacy that we would be there? I began to cry. I wasn't sad. They were tears of happiness. They were tears of gratefulness. I was overwhelmed by the perfection of the moment. Two of the three young ladies attending to us were prospective teachers and they loved sharing with us about education, and they loved bouncing ideas off of us.The charms they showed me were exactly what I would have chosen: Ladybug (my nickname which means happiness and affection), anchor (which means hope, tranquility, stability), hummingbird (which means awakening, healing, eternity) and an apple (which means insight, wisdom, teacher). I cried tears even as my efforts to hold them back were unsuccessful. How perfect! This would have been just how my dad would have done it. "Surprise! Lisa, it's a party! You don't need to be sad that I'm not here, Ladybug! You need to be excited. I am always proud of you my teacher girl! I am always proud of you, and you're going to make it. Daddy, loves you!" Not only did he invest in me, but he invested in my profession. He invested 20% in literacy which is my passion! That is my dad, and that is my mom!

Working to bite back tears as I stared out at the gorgeous park in front of me, I realized that Chrissie still needed to eat, and I wasn't sure what we would do. It was in that moment that one of the sweet girls who was checking me out said out of the blue, "Have you tried, Trata, next door?" I said, "No. Is it a bakery?" (I had seen a bakery beside it). She said, "No, there is a bakery near it, but Trata is a great restaurant that serves burgers, sweet potato fries and other great food!" Wow! Even that detail was taken care of! We had found food for Chrissie, and the atmosphere in that place was awesome! As we ate, laughed and reflected on the irony of it all, I just kept thinking: "Some people live a lifetime for a moment like this". It came to mind as I basked in the way things had perfectly aligned, that this was one of those moments you don't forget. Getting lost was an awesome happenstance that led to being found.

Life is amazing. It is perplexing and beautiful. Its complexities that are paralleled by its simplicities create a beautiful canvas! Sometimes we must go down in order to go up. Sometimes we must be lost in order to be found. Sometimes we must lose in order to win. Sometimes we must relinquish control in order to stand our ground. Sometimes we must give the very thing we wish to receive...and sometimes...just sometimes we must do nothing but simply enjoy the perfection that was gifted to us for no reason at all...except that we are loved!

Picture of the Literacy Event Complete with Children's Book Captions over the Food